


Before My Helpless Sight, He Plunges At Me

by Irollforinitiative



Series: Theirs Is Not to Reason Why [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied Johnlock, M/M, Major Character Injury, So much angst, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irollforinitiative/pseuds/Irollforinitiative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg try to live their lives as Sherlock sits in a hospital bed, comatose.  It's starting to seem like this event may be the end of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before My Helpless Sight, He Plunges At Me

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but I wanted to end it where I did. Will update again very soon I promise.

_Greg stared at Mycroft as Mycroft stared at Sherlock and he realized it was all true.  Mycroft had lost everything._

 

Greg retreated to the waiting room once things calmed down again. John and Mycroft stayed by Sherlock's bedside, John now taking over the role of making sure Mycroft ate and drank.  He was used to taking care of a Holmes as well.  Greg was immensely thankful as it allowed him a moment to think. A moment to think about what Mycroft had done.  What Mycroft had done for him.  The amount of love and devotion that goes into such an act was more than Greg could fathom.  Mycroft loved Sherlock dearly, that wasn't contested. But it was one sided.  It was Mycroft pouring himself out to Sherlock and receiving nothing in return. Greg knew what that could be like from some past relationships.  So, in a way, it almost made sense to Greg.  But then he thought back to the fact that Mycroft had chosen him.  Had chosen him over Sherlock.  And suddenly it became too much again. Moriarty had it right.  It was a debt that could never be repaid. 

 

Greg sat there for about six hours.  He sat and did nothing the entire time, entirely consumed in his thoughts of Mycroft and their future.  He had come to the decision that, much as he loved Mycroft and would willingly give up his own life for the man, he couldn't live each day looking at Mycroft and seeing in his eyes what he saw now: questioning.  Mycroft was questioning if he made the right decision every time he looked at Greg and it was painful.  It was destructive.  And since Greg could never repay him and even the score, it couldn't last.  Once things had calmed down, once Mycroft could function again, he would have to end it.  He was just coming to terms with this emotionally when John patted his shoulder and pressed a cup of tea into his hands.

 

"Don’t make me have to worry about you too.  Eat and drink." John sat next to him. 

 

Greg looked over at John and nodded sadly, "Yeah.  Sorry."

 

John looked away and sighed, "Listen, I know what you're thinking when you look at me like that.  I've lived with Sherlock long enough to have learned something.  And you have nothing to be sorry for.  It was not anything you did.  Nor can I fault Mycroft his decision.  If it had been me, I'm not sure I could choose anyone over Sherlock and we're not…you know…"

 

"In love?"

 

"Shagging."

 

Greg chuckled and sighed, "It still hurts."

 

"I know.  Trust me I know.  I spent almost three days ingesting a truly heroic amount of liquor to try to quell the ache of finally getting Sherlock back only to have him taken away again.  But that's just the thing, there's nothing I can do now but hope.  Hope and keep living."

 

"Yeah. It's the keeping living I can't seem to do.  'Cause I'm hoping plenty."

 

John nodded, "You and Mycroft need to go home tonight.  You need to live just a tiny amount.  Even if you just go home and drink yourselves to sleep, you need out of here."

 

Greg frowned, "Can you make Mycroft leave?"

 

John grinned but it didn't reach his eyes, "I have my ways.  Come on."

 

They got up and went into the room where Mycroft was staring at Sherlock.  John cleared his throat to catch Mycroft's attention and smiled a little.

 

"Hey, Mycroft, I was wondering if you would go home tonight."

 

Mycroft frowned, "But if Sherlock wakes up or he needs me or--"

 

John cut him off, "Please. I…I need some time with him alone.  Got some things I need to say that don't really need an audience."

 

Mycroft's eyebrows rose, "Oh? Oh.  Okay.  But you'll text if things change?"

 

John nodded, "Yes.  Go home and sleep.  And make Greg sleep too."

 

Greg and Mycroft exchanged an awkward glace.  It was like all their time together was gone.  All the months spent falling in love and learning one another were wasted because suddenly they were both different people. The car ride home was silent. They entered the flat in silence. They changed clothes in silence.  It wasn't until they were sitting in the kitchen eating food from the always stocked refrigerator in their pajamas when someone spoke.  Mycroft broke the silence with the barest of whispers.

 

"I love you."

 

Greg dropped the spoon and stew he was eating on the counter and moved quickly to pull Mycroft into a tight hug, desperate for the man he loved and not the new Mycroft, "I love you too.  So much."

 

Mycroft held Greg tight, his fingernails bruising the skin at the back of Greg's neck, "Tell me it's going to be okay."

 

Greg felt his earlier resolve fade at this glimpse of the man he knew and loved.  It was with full conviction that he replied, "It's going to be okay, love.  I promise.  It will be fine."

 

Greg pulled back and kissed Mycroft firmly.  Mycroft sighed and tangled his fingers in Greg's hair, tilting his head so they could open their mouths.  Greg growled a little as their tongues slid against one another after so much time being apart. He backed Mycroft up to the edge of the kitchen counter and pressed against him.  Mycroft moaned and held Greg's hips, pulling him closer.  Mycroft was halfway through another moan when he stopped suddenly.  Greg pulled away, startled by the sudden change.  Mycroft wasn't looking him in the eye.  Instead he pecked Greg on the mouth quickly and slipped out of his arms.

 

"I'm very tired.  I should sleep."

 

Greg nodded and felt the ache of the loss of his Mycroft, "Yeah.  Sleep.  I'm going to eat a bit more then I'll join you."

 

Mycroft nodded and slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door.  They never shut the door.  Not even before their loudest and most passionate lovemaking.  That door lived open.  It was a testament to their relationship and it's stability.  No aspect of their life was closed off from the world or from one another.  But this new Mycroft had shut the door. Greg felt his resolve return and he put the food away before curling up on the sofa with a blanket and falling asleep.  Greg woke in the morning to the sound of Mycroft making breakfast. He sighed.  Even when Mycroft needed the rest he couldn't sleep in.  Greg sat up and groaned.

 

"You didn't come to bed last night." Mycroft didn't look up at Greg as he spoke.

 

Greg shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, embarrassed, "No.  Fell asleep out here on the sofa before I could make it to bed.  Sorry."

 

"It's fine. I merely sleep better when you're there."

 

Greg felt his heart break, "I'm sorry honey."

 

Mycroft brought Greg a cup of coffee and smiled, but it was a hollow smile.  It was the kind of smile Mycroft gave when Greg first met him. "It's fine."

 

Greg nodded. "I love you."

 

Mycroft nodded and but his smile was still hollow, "I love you too."

 

As soon as Mycroft turned his back Greg winced.  That had been the first time Mycroft had said "I love you" to Greg and Greg hadn't believed him.  His words had echoed like a single drop in a bucket: loud but meaningless. Greg stood up and fled towards the bedroom.

 

"I'm going to shower and head in to work.  What is your day?"

 

Mycroft looked up from his phone, surprised, "Work.  Like usual. And then hospital after."

 

Greg nodded and left the room, strangely content to be out of Mycroft's presence. He showered and by the time he was dressed, Mycroft was gone.  Greg filled out paperwork and did busy work all day.  Everyone around him had taken mercy upon him and given him busy work.  Enough to keep his brain distracted the entire day.   By the time the evening arrived, Greg was suitably tired and at peace.  It wouldn't last, though.  By the time he showed up to the hospital he was feeling happier than he had in days. He sat by Mycroft's side for a few hours and then the two of them returned home to eat in silence and fall asleep.  They didn't have sex.  They didn't cuddle.  But, then again, it was their first day back after the incident.  Or that was what Greg decided.  However, when a full week of this routine passed, Greg began to really worry. He was preparing ways to breech the physical wall between himself and Mycroft as they sat by Sherlock's bedside when the machine monitoring Sherlock's brain function spiked into the conscious zone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Wilfred Owen Poem "Dulce Et Decorum Est"
> 
> "As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
> 
> In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,  
> He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning."


End file.
